Growing up

Wood Sprite is a playful kiddo who still enjoys her zinkies, pretend play and dress-up. When we go to the Magic House, she still loves to do everything there, from the slide to the beanstalk to the kids’ village.

But she’s too old to visit her favorite exhibit, the water room. And the sandbox.

For her 8^th birthday this past week, she asked for clothing for the first time. She loves plaid! And she wanted and received big kid stuff—including a guitar, a scooter and a bow with arrows. A real set. All of the family members who pitched in to make these dreams happen didn’t bat an eye, either, because she’s growing and capable and so… eight.

I’m having a hard time coming to terms with it.

In lots of ways, it feels like she is outgrowing me. Sure, she still wants to play with me, but she’s off and onto larger things. She loves to explore and while I don’t mind nature, I’m definitely no hiker. In the past, when she wanted to try something new—whether it was basketball or painting or whatever—I researched it and made it happen if I didn’t know how to do it already. Now, I find myself searching for hiking buddies, guitar players and other people who know about these things much better than I do. I knew this day would come, but I wasn’t prepared for it all the same.

She’s so big.

So big. And so smart—both mentally and mouth-wise! She wisecracks just like her parents, so I can’t blame her for that. This time just flew and I wish I’d played more when she was little. I’m making an effort to do so now, and we’ve always played at least a little every day—but I think about all the weekends I worked when she was a baby and I wish I hadn’t worked a single one. I’m glad I know that now before she’s, you know, 17 or something, and I can at least take advantage of these last few precious kid-years, but I wish I had then, too.

We took her to Cicis for her birthday dinner—it’s her favorite restaurant—and when she got up and went to the bathroom without telling us, made her own plates and drinks, and went to the back to spend her change on the toy machines I choked up. I always do on her birthday.

“She doesn’t need me anymore!” I told Indy.

He laughed and said she’d always need her mama—but it was a good thing that she didn’t need me to do these things for her. It meant that we were doing our jobs.

And he was right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia